


A Byte of Truth

by HelmofHades



Series: Perrin Alad AU [2]
Category: Warframe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Androids, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Master & Servant, Pregnancy, Slavery, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 01:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelmofHades/pseuds/HelmofHades
Summary: Do Cephalons dream? Is such advanced technology capable of human like behavior, regardless of their sapient origins? Synapse finds his programming recalling days of his past, muddled together as a heap of trauma and unrecognizable memories. A dream of sorts? Either way, his reminiscing gains an unwanted visitor from days he swore he'd forgotten.





	A Byte of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I rp this Alad at Sequenced-Mutalist on tumblr!!!

The air of the orokin hall is… heavy. Almost suffocating. Yet his Master is near, and he feels oddly at home. Synapse looks down at his hands, wavering and… blurry? He furrows his brows. Something is not right.

“Syn, what do you think?”

Da’al’s gentle voice tears him back to reality. The orokin is a foot shorter than he, but far more radiant. A perfectly white maternity gown drapes from him, and a gilded headdress frames his features. They are… at the market? The orokin furrows his brows at his Cephalon’s hesitation. “I…” Synapse glances at his Master’s gesturing hands. He holds a bolt of patterned cloth. A rich, royal purple embroidered with lotus flowers. “It is beautiful, Master Da’al.”  


And his orokin smiles. The edges of his joy crinkle the corners of his eyes and he turns back to the merchant, a flurry of… unrecognizable words following. The Cephalon turns to regard the trader. Their face is just as blurry as his hands. Their words produce a… almost painful drone on Synapse’s ears, yet his Master is unaffected. He must be malfunctioning…

“Here! Hold these.”

His orokin passes over the bolt of rich cloth, it’s extravagant silk curling into his fingers. Still, the Cephalon furrows his brows. Something is not right. Yet he doesn’t have much time to think as his Master strides off, almost too fast for his stature and… situation. Synapse jogs to keep up, barely an inch behind him as they finally stop. 

“Oh! Do you think Vehn would like these?”

“He has enough earrings, Master Da’al… but I’m sure he would appreciate the gesture.”

The chuckle that follows nearly melts him. This was HIS orokin. HIS Master. Synapse finds himself grinning as Da’al turns the pair of hoops over in his supple hands. “Oh, but they look so nice!” He turns to a small desk mirror set up at the booth, holding a hoop up to his own ear as if to preview it’s affect. “If not for him, I might get these for myself…” Of course, the Cephalon stands at attention. He is to keep an eye out. Assure his Master’s safety and happiness. That was… his purpose. His reason for creation.

**You learn well, Syncith.**

Synapse jolts, head whipping about for a moment. He had no heart anymore, but he finds it pounding in his chest. He knew… that voice. He forgot how it haunted him. Followed his anxiety like a prowling tiger on a lamb. Gripped his throat like a perversion as it tore him to pieces. 

“Syn?”

No. His Master is here. His Master will keep him safe now. Synapse blinks and turns back to his orokin, flashing a fake smile at him. For a moment, the man seems unconvinced, worry written on his features. “Yes, Master Da’al?” The man purses his lips as he looks his Cephalon over, gingerly returning the hoops to their display.

“I… Nothing. Come on.”

Da’al turns, pulling the cloth shawl he wore further over his shoulders. The edges are lined with golden thread, glittering in the light as Synapse shadows him. Another booth of blurry faced merchants. Another pause of unrecognizable droning. The Cephalon stops during his wait, shifting his Master’s goods into the crook of his arm. His free hand pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes screwing closed as he sighs. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. His vision didn’t normally malfunction like this…

**Have you sufficiently atoned, Syncith?**

There it was again. The Cephalon jumps, eyes flicking open to find the scene… frozen. Colors bled from the hall. From the booths, and God’s above, even from his Master. The merchant ahead of them braces their hands on the table, and he finally finds their gaze.

**Forcing a criminal into a life of servitude… Do you think me cruel?**

Ballas. Synapse finds himself backpedalling. The fear in his face must’ve displayed plain as day, for the other orokin smirks and chuckles to himself. **But you know you deserve this… don’t you?** It is a lump stuck in his throat that keeps him from responding… right? Not the bubbling fear in his heart. Not the inability to speak suddenly. **You know you have no purpose without him…** The executioner glances over at the gowned orokin, running a hand down the side of his jaw. And the Cephalon bristles. 

“DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM.” He… wasn’t sure exactly what he was thinking. The bolts of cloth flutter towards the ground, quickly caught in whatever force was freezing the moment. But Synapse nearly vaults over the table, sandals kicking aside a few pins and baubles into the frozen air. And his hands are at Ballas’s throat. And he pins him.

**Interesting.**

They are on the floor behind the booth now, the Cephalon straddling him with one hand to his throat and the other pinning the hand that DARED touch his Master above the man’s head. And Synapse bristles. Yet the one under him merely smiles. SMIRKS, even. The Cephalon gives a brief snarl, baring his teeth in frustration. **You have will… and you have courage. I will give you that much.** The voice drains in the back of his mind, although the man never actually moves his lips.  


Synapse shudders, pulling back as the lump returns to his throat. His hands clasped over his face, form shivering as he closes his eyes. What the FUCK was happening. This couldn’t be a malfunction. There was something more to this…

His fears confirm when he opens his eyes, the orokin hall having melted away. At least he thought. Yet it is gone, replaced by a shapeless dark void. The booths. The cloth. His Master. Gone. And he kneels alone in a cage of his own making, slowly pushing himself to his feet. **But will it be enough to complete your duty?** Again… Synapse flinches, hands moving to cover his ears now. **Do you have the resolve to stay with him? For as long as he shall nurture his immortal soul?**  


He blinks open a gaze to find bars. A prison, he assumes. The Cephalon finds himself stumbling forward, somewhat against his own will, and grabs the cold metal. His forehead presses against a bar, and his eyes flutter closed again. **Swear to me, Syncith Ahse. **The voice shakes his very mind. Roaring in the back of his head like a feral beast. **Swear to me you are as subservient as your uniform implies.**  


And he peers beyond the bars. The distance materializes a blob of white matter. Shifting and transforming. Once he squints, it finally finds its shape. The silhouette of Master Da’al. Back turned, caught in an infinite loop of striding away from him without actually making any progress. The Cephalon draws in a sharp hiss through his teeth and shoots an arm past the bars. His throat is twisted in knots. Even if his voice wasn’t demanded, he couldn’t utter a sound. All he can do is flop his hand helplessly. Desperately. Da’al stops.

** **Swear to me.** **

His tone catches in his throat, but a bit of helpless stuttering follows. Synapse drags his arm back into the cage, hand clapping over his mouth as he watches with wide eyed horror. His Master turns, slowly but regally. Those are not his Master’s eyes. Not the gentle gold. His Master’s eyes do not glow with malicious intent. Shimmer with a yellow ivory and cast light along his brows and cheekbones. His Master does not have Ballas’s eyes.  


The Cephalon is shaking like a leaf as the bastardized image of his Master turns. It is everything but the eyes. From the pristine whiteness of his Daxiushan to the gold of his orokin Phoenix Crown. An imposing noble image that draws the Cephalon to his knees. Both hands over his lips, he finds tears welling in his widened eyes as his Master nears. His hands fold before his formal attire and he tilts his head, as if… waiting.

“I-... I s-... swear to you…”

The evil image smirks, straightening. **Keep going. You are not yet finished. **Synapse draws in a sniff, averting his gaze to the floor. He is to… bow before the one he is being gifted to. To give himself prone to his new owner. Entirely and sincerely. The Cephalon slowly shuffles into a bow, forehead against the floor.

“I s-... swear to serve Da’al Cyric. To perform whatever he may need, and to look after his well being.” He is shaking, eyes wrenched shut. “For as… l-long as he shall nurture his immortal soul and Continue his legacy.” And he bows. His own heavy breathing fogs up the surface beneath him as he waits for the Master’s approval, subservient and helpless. Just as Ballas had instructed.  


**Then stand. Stand and be reborn. **His eyes remain shut as he obeys, pushing himself up and holding his head low as to not offend. **Stand and follow. That is all you are good for now, Syncith. **A hand passes the bars. He can barely hear the shuffling of fabric against metal before it touches him. His Master is not this cold… **Stand and obey.**

“Synapse!?”

The Cephalon snaps to attention. Another faint hint of a beating heart in his ears. One he never truly had. His datascape twirls around him. Lilacs and purples. Perfect and organized. Just how Master Da’al wanted it. He stares down at his hands, only to find that he doesn’t have any. Scoffing, they quickly materialize under his will. And they are not blurry…  


Syn lets out a sigh of relief before moving to bring up his transmissions. “Synapse! What the hell is going on?” That was…

He carves his way through code and bytes, practically leaping from Alad’s office display. “Yes, Master Da’al?” Again, that phrase. The orokin frowns a bit at its usage and furrows his brows. He is, or was, elbow deep in the guts of a hyena proxy, gloves pulled up and covered in grease and oil. A few streaks of semi opaque black run down his face in fingerprints.  


“What the fuck happened?? You just went dark for a second there!” He moves to pull up his safety goggles, oil staining them as well as sticking to the bits of hair coming out of his ponytail. “Are you alright? Was there an outage??” Synapse finds himself… hesitant for a moment. The look the orokin shoots to him. Reminding him of a day when he followed his Master to the market to buy new cloth for sewing. The same pursed lips and furrowed brows.  


“Uh… No! Sorry, sir.” Alad frowns further. “I was dedicating a bit more memory than I probably should have to… clearing out some excess data. Spam files and the like.” The Perrin watches his diamond form on the display, hand still at his goggles before sighing and pulling them back on. He reaches back into the hyena, digging around for the source of whatever malfunction he was fixing.

“Alright, if you say so. Could you ready the sink? I need to clean this shit off.”

“Yes, Master Da’al! Right away, sir!”

This… This was normal. The running of water puts him at ease, Alad moving to tug off his gloves and wash them under the office sink. “That was all, Syn.” He waves a hand to him dismissively. “Sorry to bother you.” The Cephalon hangs for a moment, watching his orokin before giving a soft noise of acknowledgement. The display cuts… and he is back in the datascape again.

And he is at ease...


End file.
